


Survivors

by ConsultingCaffrey



Category: White Collar
Genre: So sue me, Yeah it's overused, Zombie Apocalypse, i need it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-01
Updated: 2017-08-15
Packaged: 2018-10-13 11:34:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,936
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10512948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ConsultingCaffrey/pseuds/ConsultingCaffrey
Summary: It's the apocalypse. So who will survive and who will fall to the horrors of this new world?





	1. My Say

Peter and Neal had an agreement. They'd even shaken hands on it once things really started to go bad. The agreement was simple and concise: If either of them were bitten by a zombie, the other person would put them out of their misery, no questions asked.

A year ago, they would have laughed, said they'd never have to make such an arrangement, not in a million years. There was no such thing as zombies or an apocalypse. It only happened in the movies.

A year ago, they would have been at the office, going over case files or interrogating suspects.

They wouldn't have been walking back to the Burke's house, filthy dirty, carrying backpacks full of food they'd managed to scavenge from different places.

Neal wouldn't have insisted Peter go on ahead because he wanted to see if he could find more. "Elizabeth needs you. Go home, I'll catch up."

Peter wouldn't have left him there without much more than an "Are you sure?"

Now, as a single gunshot split the air outside, Peter froze, meeting his wife's gaze briefly before grabbing his own gun and dashing back to find Neal.

His friend was easy to spot, sitting stiffly against the old Taurus still parked out front. There was a dead one next to him, its already grotesque face half blown off from the shot. It wasn't moving anymore.

Neal was. He was shaking as he stared at the thing, eyes wide with shock as he slowly let his hand drop to the ground, still loosely holding his gun.

Peter stared as well, but not at the dead woman. At the bleeding wound in Neal's leg. The agent shook his head, unable to breathe a word. No, not Neal. It was never supposed to be Neal. Although the former con would say different.

Neal's eyes finally met his and they were full of pain and fear as he whispered, "I'm sorry... I'm sorry..."

Peter slowly trudged over, sinking down beside him against the car. Lots of memories in that car.

Neal didn't say another word and Peter remained silent for a full minute, just sitting beside him and remembering that agreement of theirs. He suddenly wished they hadn't done that.

Neal seemed to be thinking the same thing and he swallowed thickly, letting go of his gun. "I'm out," he said. "Give me yours."

"What?" Peter asked numbly.

"Just... give me your gun and go home," Neal said, holding a hand out. "You don't have to do this."

"Neal..." Peter started, but his friend didn't give him a chance to say more.

"Please, Peter. I don't..." His voice wavered. "I don't want to be put down like one of them." He looked at the older man pleadingly. "Let me do this."

"Maybe you're not infected," Peter said, clinging to the smallest bit of hope he could grasp at. It was all he had left and Neal knew it.

"Stop," Neal said. "Stop it." He'd started shivering, his eyes narrowing briefly in a wince as one hand came to the wound on his leg, pressing against it tightly.

Peter closed his eyes, refusing to believe this was happening. But he couldn't fool himself, and he found his hand reaching for his gun to grab it and hand it over to Neal, who took it with shaky fingers and a quiet "Thank you, Peter... Now go home... Be w-with your wife."

Peter looked at his friend's shaking form. "I want to stay," he said. "You don't have to be alone."

Neal shook his head. "I don't want..." He trailed off with a whimper, stiffening, then continued. "I don't want you to see."

Peter understood that, and he nodded slowly, feeling tears gather in his eyes. He was sure to be gentle as he pulled Neal into a warm hug, closing his eyes tightly as a few of the tears escaped to run down his cheeks.

When he withdrew, Neal wore much the same expression, though he at least tried to give Peter that old charming smile of his. "Bye, Peter."

Peter could barely get the words out, his voice wavering. "Bye, Neal..." It was so final. It didn't feel right, especially when he stood up and turned to walk away. Each step felt like a betrayal, and he stared numbly at the front door, reaching it so slowly yet much too fast. He paused there and looked back.

Neal had tilted his head back and was looking up at the cloudy sky.

Peter left him that way, preferring to save that last image of his friend in his head.

Elizabeth met him there as he shut the door and she looked at him with wide eyes, knowing something was wrong. "What happened? Is Neal...?"

Peter shook his head, and then they both flinched at the gunshot from outside. Elizabeth brought a hand to her mouth with a teary-eyed gasp and Peter immediately pulled her into a tight hug, holding her as they both fought hard not to cry, both failing.

Neal had been an integral part of their lives for years now. Peter couldn't imagine what life would be like without him.

It was just he and El now. He, El, and their unborn child.


	2. Count Your Blessings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay! An update!  
> I've got a nice little rhythm going here. I think it helps that I'm going back and forth between this and Matters of the Mind. I should have a new chapter for that up soon. Thank you guys so much for your kind reviews!

That night, things were calm. Peter didn't sleep, couldn't sleep no matter how hard he tried. Whenever he closed his eyes, all he could see was Neal.

Elizabeth hadn't said a word since then and at the moment, she had her face buried in Peter's shoulder, her slow and steady breathing the only sound in the room. At least one of them was getting some rest.

By the time morning came, Peter had managed to get a couple hours in, but he was still dead tired. Even so, he had to get up and make sure everything was as it should be. A month ago, they'd woken up to a man walking around downstairs and they didn't need that again.

He let El sleep, getting up carefully so as not to wake her, then heading downstairs. Neal had taken his gun but he had others. Though he'd have to go out there and see if that one was still there. Maybe. It was doubtful that the body was. More than likely, something had dragged it off during the night.

The house was all quiet and safe, so Peter sighed, steeling himself before opening the front door.

No, Neal's body was still there, though he'd slipped sideways so all Peter could see was a crumpled form on the ground by the car.

Why did he have to do this?

He closed the door behind him, taking a calming breath before walking over. Oddly enough, there was another dead zombie nearby, but Peter didn't pay any attention to that after he made sure it was really dead.

But he could hear a noise, like something breathing, which made him freeze, looking around sharply, but he couldn't see anything else.

Then he realized the noise was coming from in front of him at his feet. Neal. Yes, there it was. The slow rise and fall of his chest

Peter stayed frozen to the spot, not daring to move. It wasn't Neal anymore. For some reason, he hadn't done it. That's what they'd heard, him shooting the other one. Not himself. But why?

Peter was startled when he saw Neal's eyes open halfway and blink slowly. It wasn't him, he reminded himself. He should put an end to him before he could hurt anyone.

But then Neal's gaze found his and Peter couldn't bring himself to do it. He just couldn't.

"Mm...M'la...?"

Peter tilted his head at Neal's gravely voice. Zombies didn't speak, so he knew he shouldn't try to understand it. It meant nothing, just gibberish.

But then Neal opened his mouth again. "I'm...'live...?"

Peter stared, whispering, "What'd you just say?"

Neal just looked at him through half-lidded eyes before they slipped shut again.

Peter slowly knelt beside him, taking his gun back from Neal's limp hand, then hesitating. Maybe he'd just imagined words. Maybe he wanted so badly for Neal to be okay that he'd heard something that wasn't there. He was infected, that was how these things went.

But no, he refused to give up on his friend. Putting the gun in its place, he slipped his hands under Neal's arms and started pulling him back towards the house.

Part of him knew he was putting them all in danger by doing so, but that part was drowned out by the fact that it was Neal. They'd been through so much together and he wasn't going to give up on him now.

Inside, he kicked the door shut behind him, then dragged Neal over to the couch and laid him there carefully.

His leg was still covered in blood and the wound there looked bad, so that was what he focused on first. He was in the middle of cleaning it off when El came downstairs.

Peter heard her gasp at the sight before her and he glanced over. "It's okay, honey."

"What are you doing?" she asked, eyes wide. "I thought he..."

"I thought so too," Peter said as she moved a bit closer to see. "But I went out there this morning for my gun and... I think he tried to talk to me. I just need to make sure it's not him before I go blowing his head off."

She understood, though she looked wary about it. "Be careful," she said, giving him a brief kiss before going to make some food for them.

Peter got Neal's leg taken care of in a few minutes. He'd had to roll up his pant leg to do so, being careful of the bloody mess that was his shin. Neal didn't stir or make a sound through it all and Peter wondered if that was good or bad.

When breakfast was ready, he was reluctant to leave Neal's side, but he'd be fine, right? He just needed to rest, and besides, there was nothing more to be done for him at the moment so Peter joined El in the kitchen to eat.

-)()(-

Night fell and Neal hadn't moved an inch. Peter was a little worried for him, but he went to bed anyway. They all needed sleep.

Sleep that lasted about three hours before Peter was woken up by a noise. He didn't recall what it was, so he sat up and listened, on high alert. Beside him, Elizabeth stirred. "Hon?"

"Sh," Peter whispered to her. He didn't hear anything for a long moment, then it came again and this time he recognized it as Neal yelling. Not an angry or panicked yell. It was like he was just doing it to make noise, which was puzzling.

Peter was quick to crawl out of bed and hurry downstairs where he'd left him on the couch.

Neal was still there, and he still hadn't moved, but as Peter walked over to him, the man opened his mouth and shouted again, expression troubled even as his eyes remained closed. It was slightly unnerving.

"Neal," Peter whispered, reaching out to nudge him a bit. "Hey, wake up. It's Peter."

To his relief, Neal opened his eyes, staring up at him hazily.

"You okay?" Peter asked, hoping to hear an actual answer and not just zombie gibberish. He pulled his hand back just to be safe. No need to risk losing a finger because of his own stupidity.

Neal's answer made him sigh in relief, a rough and gravely voice replying, "Not dead."

"No, you're not," Peter smiled. "You feel alright?"

"No," Neal mumbled, not even bothering to try.

"Leg still hurt?"

"Everything hurts."

Peter frowned. "That bad, huh? Anything I can do?"

He got a small head shake and a "Go to bed, Peter."

"Alright," Peter said, "Just holler if you need anything, okay?"

"Mmhm."

As the former agent headed back upstairs, he couldn't help but feel much better, despite Neal still being in pain. At least he was human. At least he wasn't a monster.

-)()(-

Morning brought a moment of peace as Peter lay beside his wife, watching as sunlight spread across the floor. Everything was quiet, and it was almost like the events of the past couple days had all been a bad dream, like he could get up and walk down the hall to find Neal coming out of his room, having just gotten dressed and ready for the day. Part of him hoped it would be that way, even if it was just wishful thinking.

Elizabeth got up after a while, giving him a good morning kiss before walking slowly out of their room. She was getting bigger by the day, her belly peeking out from under her shirt. Peter kept telling himself to find more of those for her, some that would fit better now that she was six months along.

He got up soon after and headed downstairs first thing to check on Neal, who was still on the couch. His hair was damp with sweat, and he looked pale, so Peter grabbed a wet cloth from the kitchen before coming back to kneel beside the couch.

Neal sighed deeply, opening his eyes once the cool cloth touched his forehead.

"Morning," Peter greeted quietly. "How you doing?"

Neal shrugged with one shoulder. "I feel pretty lucky."

"Yeah?"

"No, Peter, I got bit. It feels like my leg is falling off and my head hurts. Everything hurts," Neal muttered, closing his eyes again. "I don't feel lucky at all."

"Well you are," Peter said. "I don't even know how you're still alive right now, but I'll take it. Whether you believe it or not, you're family. Losing you, even for one night like that, it was one of the hardest things I've had to deal with. You know that?"

Neal looked over at him, a small smile tugging at his lips. "Aw, Sour Grapes... you do care."

Peter smiled back, leaving the cloth against his friend's neck. "Yeah, don't get used to it, Partner."

He gave Neal's shoulder a brief and gentle pat before joining El in the kitchen to help make them some breakfast, which consisted of omelettes and toast. He brought some over to Neal, who only wrinkled his nose and pulled the pillow over his face, so Peter took that as a definite no.

No matter. Neal was alive. He'd count his blessings and be grateful.


	3. Who'da Thunk

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so this story is finished. I had kind of wanted to make it a long story, but then I moved on to other things and I just didn't want to commit haha

The creature wandered through familiar streets, nose to the ground. His fur was dirty and more brown than its natural yellow color. He came to a spot where there was a lot of blood and he licked at it with a whine. He knew who that blood belonged to.

He was home. After a long and confusing few months, wandering around lost, he'd finally made it back home and he'd never been happier. He bounded up to the door with several sharp barks, tail wagging at high speed. Surely they'd hear and they'd let him back in. Oh, they'd be so happy!

He heard footsteps and his tail only sped up as the door cracked open and there was his master. The door opened a little further and the man called his name in surprise and joy. But his hand grabbed his collar and tugged him in, keeping him from dashing around the place.

His mistress was there as well, both of them exclaiming happily and saying his name over and over.

He soon understood why his master kept such a tight hold on him. They intended to make him take a bath. He whined, head drooping as they commenced the torture, but as soon as they let him go, he perked up again, tongue lolling as he ran around the house, though he stopped by the couch, sniffing noisily at the friend laying there. That was the one whose blood he'd smelled outside. Was he okay?

Satchmo gave his face a good lick just to see, but then his master pulled him away again, telling him no.

However, the friend stretched a hand out, calling his name softly as he showed his teeth in a way that meant he was happy. The dog wasted no time in licking the hand and then his master let him go so he could sniff all over the friend, stopping near his leg where the smell of blood and something else still came from. The something else made Satchmo growl a bit and then his master pulled him away again, distracting him with food.

He hadn't tasted such good food in a long time, and after he was done with it, he remembered how tired he was. Wandering back over to the friend, he laid down on the floor beside the couch, determined to stay there just in case that something else smell turned out to be a bad thing.

-)()(-

Neal let his hand fall over the side of the couch, petting Satchmo gently for a while before just letting his hand rest there on the dog's back. One good thing, it was all they'd needed to lift their spirits, and they'd gotten it.

They'd long since given up on the lab ever coming back, but here he was, tail thumping against the floor and looking healthy for the most part. He was quite skinny, but that was to be expected. He'd spent months out there. They were just glad he was alive and in one piece.

"Feeling any better?" Peter asked and Neal glanced up to see him walking downstairs.

"Yeah," he replied. "Much. I just don't want to push it. I need this leg." For a while there, he was certain he was going to lose it and he really didn't want that, for both his own sake and Peter's. Because if the thing had to be removed, it would be Peter doing the removing and no way were either of them prepared for that. But no, it looked like the wound was healing fine, and though he still didn't have much feeling back in it, at least it was still there.

"Good," Peter smiled. "Wouldn't be the same without you around."

Earlier on in their friendship, Neal might not have believed him, might have brushed the sentence off without so much as a thought. Now, though, now he knew Peter meant it.

This was his home as much as it was theirs.

Satchmo chose that moment to jump up onto the couch and drape himself across Neal like a furry blanket. Since he wasn't laying too heavily on his injured leg, Neal let him be, smiling at patting the now clean dog quite happily.

He could hear Elizabeth in the kitchen making food for them while Peter offered his assistance. Satchmo snored softly in his lap.

It had taken an apocalypse, but Neal Caffrey had finally found a real home. No WitSec, no hotels, no temporary apartments, no guest room at a mansion. 

Home.

-)()(-

A yell startled Neal awake and he sat up sharply on the bed, quickly blinking the remnants of sleep from his eyes.

Elizabeth. That had been her. Her due date was close, and since that was the first thought in his head, he was quick to dash out into the hall, limping heavily.

It had been about three months since he'd gotten bit, but he'd never fully regained the use of his leg.

Pausing next to the door further down the hall, he listened, and when he heard Peter's voice speaking in hushed tones, he knocked softly. "Everything okay?"

"Neal!" Elizabeth called, "Come in."

He was puzzled by how relieved she sounded that he was there, but he opened the door anyway, stepping into the room. The bedside lamp on her side was turned on, its soft glow illuminating the room.

Peter was standing next to her by the bed, one hand in hers. She looked pale.

"She's having contractions," Peter said quickly. "Not very close together yet, but getting there."

Neal looked between them, barely contained excitement making his eyes sparkle in the dim light. "We're having a baby?"

"We're having a baby," Peter confirmed with a bright smile.

Neal then looked at where Peter was standing, by Elizabeth's side, and then where he was standing, at the foot of the bed by her feet. A glance at Peter was all it took for them to wordlessly switch places and Elizabeth shot Neal a smirk. "Scared?"

"Of course not. I just don't do well with..."

"Childbirth?" she filled in, amused.

"Blood. I was going to say blood," he mumbled, then looked down in surprise as her hand gripped his like she'd been doing with Peter. That grip tightened substantially as another contraction made her wince.

"Good thing we were already planning on a home birth," Peter said. "But safe to say, I don't think our midwife is gonna make it."

"I never liked her anyway," Elizabeth gasped. "You two will have to do."

Neal stayed glued to her side, not that he had a choice. He couldn't get his hand back if he tried. He was just glad it was his left hand so that in case of permanent injury, he still had his right to paint with.

Forgeries weren't good for much nowadays, though, other than his own personal amusement.

He was snapped back into the moment when Elizabeth cried out and the titan grip on his hand made him stifle a grimace.

They still had a long way to go.

-)()(-

Seven hours later, Peter George Burke was born at 9:56 AM.

Neal didn't have to ask where the middle name came from, and he wondered whose idea it was. He was undeniably touched, but he covered it up by saying, "Only a middle name? You know you could have called him Neil. With an E-I. I think that would have been better."

Elizabeth smiled tiredly at him. "You're welcome."

Ah, so it had been her. That surprised him.

"I'm not letting my first born be named after an art thief," Peter said. 

"Alleged," Neal interjected out of habit.

"But she didn't have to call him Peter either," the former agent continued with a pointed look at his wife.

"I insisted," she smiled, then glanced at Neal again. "Do you want to hold him?"

Neal blinked, taken by surprise at the offer. Peter and El had already showered the kid with love and attention, passing him back and forth between them like they couldn't get enough. But he hadn't yet gotten the chance.

"I... Well, if that's okay, I mean..."

"I said it, didn't I?" she laughed, shifting Peter Jr in her arms as Neal walked closer. "Careful with his head."

"I got him," Neal murmured as he took the bundle of blankets gently from his mother's arms. And just like that, he was holding his best friend's son.

Anyone would have cried. That's why he didn't feel out of place to do so, smiling uncontrollably as he looked down at the little guy in his arms. Then he laughed. "Look at us," he said. "Did you ever think you would be standing there watching Neal Caffrey hold your first born son?"

Peter shook his head, also smiling. "No, not in a million years. And if someone had told me that back when I took your case, I'd have given it to somebody else."

Neal feigned hurt. "Ouch."

"Good thing nobody told me," Peter said after that, looking at his former CI standing there holding his kid.

He didn't mind it at all.


End file.
